Today and Everyday
by Rapier-of-Red
Summary: He is the one splash of blue sky on an otherwise overcast existence, the one string of spontaneity that Matthew is determined to grasp on to and never let go, lest he fall over the edge. AU. Am/Can/Am. Inspired by the song "Marry Me" by Train.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers, or the song "Marry Me" by Train (which you all should listen to while reading this), I'm just borrowing them for my amusement.

Warnings: Um, none really. There's a kiss or two, but nothing really serious.

This was inspired by my almost non-stop listening to the song "Marry Me". This just bloomed in my mind and I couldn't help but write it. Please read and enjoy.

Today and Everyday

Twenty-two, fresh out of school, he was looking for a job in a new town with a degree he knew wouldn't get him far. It felt good to start fresh, to go to a place on his own. He's a good boy, loves his family, his friends, but lately he'd been dreaming of seeing the world. Of traveling, finding love and becoming more happy than he ever could in his small hometown.

Life, however, has a way of picking away at your ambitions until your dreams of traveling the world wind you up in a nobody town, living in a mostly empty apartment complex, on your own and with nothing to your name. Life picks and pulls and twists at those dreams until they become just that; dreams. The inspiration he had back then has since fled. He works a nine to seven shift at an office he has no care for. It was merely the only place hiring at the time.

For the first few months living there, he was still bright and hopeful. He still dreamt of living life at large, of seeing everything the world had to offer, of finding love. The job he had found was mundane, yes, but he dreamt and hoped that after putting away enough money he could leave and find something amazing. This hope and these dreams slowly faded as time went on.

Weeks turned into months, months turned into a year and, by then, his dreams were all but memories. The light behind his eyes has dimmed, the warmth behind his quiet smile gone as well. Sometimes, when he slept, he saw glimpses of the places he had once longed for and the resounding ache he felt in his chest when he woke up was enough to bring him to tears.

He catches himself wondering how he could have let his life go this way. He was supposed to be something great, something that meant some_thing_ to some_one_. But he isn't anything, and he just feels like he has given up on life. He has since stopped answering his parents' phone calls. He can't talk to them without feeling like a failure. He knows they will attempt to coddle him, to bring him home but, as much as he hates his life in this town, he can't go home.

Things are the same, day in and day out, and he can feel himself going mad with the repetition. Wake up, get ready, sit down and grab a coffee at the café across the street, go to work, pretend to smile, act like he's okay when he really _isn't_, and then go back home to an empty house. That's the worst part. Walking into his apartment, the setting sun glistening in, painting the whole room a mix of faded orange and red, and feeling alone. Alone in every sense of the word.

A year and a half has passed, a year and a half of monotonous nothing, dragging him further down into this whirlpool he seems to be caught in. When he feels like he can't stand it anymore, when he feels like not doing anything for_ one more day _will drive him mad, something does happen.

It starts within his natural routine. He gets up at 7 and gets ready, trying to quirk a smile in the mirror as he regards his reflection but it comes off as a grimace. The look quickly dies, only to be replaced with the same blank look that has formed over the past year. He shifts his gaze from himself, slipping on his glasses and untucks the curly blond locks that get tangled in them.

He can't look at himself without feeling sick because he can no longer see the happy-go-lucky boy he has seemed to have left behind in Canada. He grabs his bag and is moments from the door when his seldom used phone rings. He lets it ring, watching it with downcast violet eyes that never seem excited anymore. The answering machine picks up and as he turns to leave, he catches his boss' voice telling him that the office is closed until noon today.

This is where his routine breaks.

He contemplates what he should do with so much spare time. Eventually, he decides to go out somewhere before grabbing his keys off the counter and heading for the door. No way can he spend so much time in his quiet apartment.

His body, functioning only on the mundane, the routine, pulls him and leads him into the little café across the street. Most of the workers here have been there so long that they know him by name and know his order by heart when they serve him at _his_ table; the one tucked away next to the window.

Today, however, the mundane is broken. There is a new server at the café.

This is where his routine breaks, again.

This server is all light and unguarded smiles, all kind words and easy laughter. The server thrives with the kind of enthusiasm he remembers having once upon a time. The server babbles rapidly about how all the other workers seem to know him, and how he, the server, aspires to know customers that well, too. The server asks him his name with an easy smile. His nerves and emotional receptors, working at a force they haven't had to in a long while, stun him a bit as the server beams at him. It takes a few moments to gather his scattered brain cells but he does.

"Matthew Williams,"is all he can bring himself to say, still reeling from the brightness and enthusiasm and _laughter_ and he can't breathe because _what is going on this isn't part of his routine. _

The brilliant answering smile he gets squeezes his heart in an odd way as the server replies with an honest, "Nice to meet you, Matthew, I'm Alfred Jones."

And, Matthew decides later on, that _this_ was where his routine really broke.

Alfred takes his order and scrawls it on his note pad, before sticking the pen back into his black pouch. He tells Matthew that he'll be back, before he leaves toward the kitchen.

Matthew's pulse is racing and his eyes are still blank but he can't help but feel like there is at least _colour_ on his face. He's feeling kind of breathless, his mind staggering, but it's a _feeling_, a true feeling – something he hasn't felt in a long time.

Alfred brings him over his coffee, two sugars and one milk, with a grin bright and warm enough to rival the sun. After the grey, the dark, the repetition, Matthew feels like basking in that warmth. The café is mostly empty, the few regulars visiting this early in the morning merely grabbing their drinks and leaving. But Matthew can't bring himself to leave, not yet, not when _something_ is actually sparking inside of him.

The server looks around before plopping down into the seat across from him. This isn't uncommon for servers to do, not here, not when the business has a small locale. Matthew swallows and blinks, wondering what's going on.

The new server merely chatters on about his life, about how he got a job here to raise money to travel one day and Matthew, despite the ache in his heart growing with each word stumbled out of cherry red lips, hangs on to every sentence. His attention is undivided for once.

Eventually, the server laughs to himself and apologizes about gushing to a stranger, but still smiles genuinely and thanks him for listening to him blather on and on because, really–

And Matthew shakes his head, telling the server that he really didn't mind the company. Alfred leaves Matthew with one more smile before heading back into the kitchen. Matthew finishes his coffee, takes out money and a nice tip and, after a moment of hesitation, writes a quick, messy note on a napkin with the pen Alfred left behind when he sat down to talk. He leaves them all on the booth and walks out, heading to work.

When Alfred comes back out later, he grabs the money and his pen and picks up the note with a soft smile. His eyes linger on it for a moment before tucking the two simple words into his pouch.

_Thank you._

~ o ~

Matthew goes through his routine after that, working later than usual before walking into a dark and empty apartment. It's too quiet in there but for once he can't seem to care because his mind is still caught up in the warmth and light it met today. That night, he dreams not of forgotten dreams, but of finding himself and of bright, sunny, smiles, golden hair and eyes as free as the skies he hopes to use to travel.

He wakes up for work the next day, well-rested but still as empty as every day. He gets ready and leaves his apartment, running across the street. He enters the café and goes to his table with an eagerness he can't really seem to understand. His server, a young woman he has known since he moved here, brings him his usual and he sighs, dejected for a reason he can't grasp.

Still, he pays her and gets up to leave when a folded napkin is placed on the table in front of him. He glances up and meets the eyes that pierce through the mundane and light up the world around him. Alfred offers no words, and simply pushes the napkin toward him once more before leaving to take an order.

He opens it quietly, staring down at the words as something swirls within him. His heart is beating too fast, much too fast, and he can't understand why these two words are making him _feel_ but they are and –

He steadies himself and tucks the napkin into his pocket, the warmth of those two, little words spreading through him on his way out the door and down the street to work.

_You're welcome._

~ o ~

Matthew can't shake the feeling in his heart away. The sense of some unnamed connection beats restlessly. Every time he goes to the café and sees that Alfred is working, he just wants to capture the man's attention and smile and warmth and just keep him there. He keeps the repetition from driving Matthew insane. He is the one splash of blue sky on an otherwise overcast existence, the one string of spontaneity that Matthew is determined to grasp on to and never let go, lest he fall over the edge.

The two word notes left on napkins have become an every day thing. The words are never anything poetic, never anything with intense rhyme or reason, but they still fill Matthew with something he can't describe.

The days turn into weeks and Matthew has a pile of napkin notes left on his island counter. He goes into the café earlier and earlier, drowning in the taste of warm coffee, in the sense of sun warmed cushions and of bright, enthusiastic Alfred. He can't get enough of him, he finds. And, even as time goes on, and Alfred continues to work in a job he doesn't really want to work, Alfred's brilliant smile never changes, never dims, like Matthew's did.

He tells Matthew all about his dreams. Eventually, Matthew starts telling Alfred about the dreams he had given up on. As the months wear on, some of the light and hope begins to return to Matthew's eyes.

Every day it seems to grow brighter and brighter and soon he is smiling back at Alfred, voice filled with renewed passion as he speaks about viewing the world. The server laughs with a gentle smile reserved for Matthew and Matthew alone. He never says it to the customer, but it fills him with so much happiness to see that light, that spark, in eyes that had looked so broken nearly a year ago.

It is a warm day in August, a little over a year after meeting Alfred and spending nearly every morning talking to the man when he feels confident enough to try something new.

He laughs as he writes on the napkin, deciding once and for all that he hates repetition and that this is for the best. He smiles brightly to himself and leaves the note under his money like he had on the first day he met Alfred. Then he leaves it there, walking out of the café.

Alfred returns to the table and frowns a bit when he sees that Matthew is gone. The frown doesn't last long, however, when his eyes catch the note on the table. His cheeks flush with colour and his smile could light up a room. He tucks it into his pouch, blush on his cheeks and warmth spreading through him.

_Date me?_

~ o ~

The next morning, when Matthew is getting ready, he stops and admires his reflection. He quirks up his lips into a smile before it turns into a full out grin. He can look at himself again.

Before he leaves, he does something spontaneous and calls his parents. His mother cries and his father sounds near-tears as Matthew spills his heart to them, apologizing. They forgive him instantly and tell him that they love him. He replies, actually feeling the emotions as he speaks them, before saying goodbye. He takes a deep breath and leaves his apartment.

Even though they have been very close this past year, Matthew's heart still races when he makes his way over to the café. What if he had been wrong? What if he just ruined his one shot at happiness? What if, God forbid, he had to return to the routine he had before?

He swallows his fear and walks into the empty café. His heart sinks when he can't find Alfred, and he is panicking. His heart is breaking and he turns to run out of the café when a hand catches his. He turns around slowly as a note is pressed into his palm. He reads it over and his heart swells as his eyes widen. He can't breathe because there are lips pressed to his that taste like coffee, and the store is warm as the sun rises outside the window. He loses himself in the kiss, the note all but forgotten as he throws his arms around Alfred's neck.

_Any day._

~ o ~

Three years go by and they are finally living their dream. They are traveling all over Europe first, before moving on. Matthew can't be happier because he has finally found some_one _that thinks of him as some_thing_. He is irrevocably in love.

When they realize they had the money to travel between them, they laugh and quit their jobs and celebrate. And, Matthew can't help but realize, leave the mundane routine behind them. That night they share their first real _'I love you' _and they drown in light and warmth and love and _each other_ and Matthew is so happy he can cry.

The only thing they bring with them, in memory of their old lives, are the notes passed between each other. One morning, while Alfred is asleep in their shared hotel bed in Paris, Matthew goes through the notes. His heart still squeezes when he reads them all.

This is what inspires Matthew, three years into their relationship, to write a new folds it and rests it on the pillow beside Alfred's. He grabs a small box out of his suitcase and moves it around his palm as he steps out onto the balcony. He stands there and waits for the sun to rise over Paris with a smile on his face.

_Marry me?_

_~ o ~_

When Alfred wakes up, he stretches his arms above his head and mumbles a 'good morning' to his lover. When no answer meets him, he blinks open his eyes. He looks around the room in questioning, when his eyes land on the note. Gently, he reaches over, unfolding it.

He gasps, hand flying to his mouth, eyes widening. He throws off the bed covers and moves toward the balcony, spotting his lover outside. He doesn't care that he's in his boxers and a t-shirt as he slides the glass door open and slips outside with the note in his hand.

Matthew turns around and smiles, getting down on one knee, light from the rising sunglistening around him. He's still in his bed clothes, too, but Alfred can't seem to care. Nor can he remember Matthew ever looking so perfect. Matthew then begins to tell Alfred about how he broke the routine that had become his life. He tells him how grateful he was, how grate he still is and how much he loves him. He tells him how he wants to break that routine everyday, with Alfred.

Alfred is speechless, for once, before his face breaks into the most breathtaking smile Matthew has ever seen. He puts a hand up to Matthew, a gentle '_stay there_', and slips back inside. He digs out a pen and scrawls a messy note on the back of Matthew's before running back outside. He hands it back to Matthew, all smiles and sunshine and so, unmistakably Alfred that Matthew staggers slightly, standing to reach for the note that his lover holds out.

He scans the words before throwing it over his shoulder_, _tugging Alfred into his arms and kissing him with all the light and hope and love that he can muster. The former server just reciprocates and holds tightly.

Finally, Matthew cries internally, with you, I will never live routine again.

The note flutters from the balcony, the words in ink glinting in the sunlight.

_Any day. _


End file.
